Such were our faint hopes as we commenced unloading, for we dreaded beyond measure the very idea of having to recross the Napu La a second time, being alone dependent upon ourselves for doing so.
Throughout the morning we tried every means we could think of to be allowed to march up this nullah, which they called Kerambutabuk. The officials informed us that no other Englishmen had ever been there before, and that, had their men, whose duty it was, been properly on the look-out, we ought never to have been permitted to come so far. These officials were quite reasonable and sensible men, and hoped we would not fight, for they said that war between the English and Tibetans would result in consequence.
It was a very cold and raw day we spent in this Kerambutabuk nullah, and most of the time, too, sleet was falling. The only noise we heard, besides an occasional sudden blast, was the firing off of the Tibetan matchlocks further up the valley, and the tinkling bells on the ponies of fresh arrivals as they trotted past a few hundred yards from our tents. There had been so much ringing all day long that, by the end of the day, quite a small army had been amassed.
We told our friends that we wished to go into Turkistan, but the upshot of all our war meetings ended in our having to retire by the same way we had come, namely, over the Napu La, thence northwards to the frontier pass called Lanak La. They agreed to give us four men to show us the way as far as Lanak La, but did not see the force of giving us any help with our transport.
CHAPTER VI.
OUR RETREAT—CROSSING THE BORDERLAND OF TIBET—A STRANGE ACCOUCHEMENT—SPORT—PONIES SHOT.
On the following morning we commenced our retirement, followed by a large body of Tibetans, armed with matchlocks and spears. Most of them were very dirty-looking little fellows, with long black locks, strongly reminding one of some of Punch's "Prehistoric Peeps." Their guns, which we examined, consisted of a long smooth-bore barrel, roughly fastened on to a stock, with a wooden prong on which to rest the gun when firing.
At the corner of this nullah, where it joined the main Rundore valley, was a small nomad encampment called Kerinagar. These people lived in some very dirty and dilapidated old tents, and possessed a small amount of grain and a few sheep, but the prices they demanded for them were high. Close by was a hill called Chotenchenbo, conspicuous amongst a chain of others. The hill is probably volcanic, as these nomads informed us that every month much noise was emitted from the summit, which has so worked upon their imaginations that they hold it in the deepest veneration, and on the 15th day of each month numbers of people from the surrounding district come to worship and propitiate the spirit of the mountain.
We found it heartrending work having to retrace our steps to the Napu La again, and in order to waste as little time as possible, and reach new ground, we made long marches, testing our animals to the utmost. Certainly there is a shorter road to Lanak La crossing over the Serai La and cutting off a corner. But here again we were foiled, for the men we sent on ahead to discover the possibility of going that way reported the pass to be deep in snow and absolutely impassable for ponies and mules. As we marched along this valley we had more leisure for shikar, as our surveying, etc., had already been completed. Malcolm knocked over an antelope, and being alone at the time, hallaled the animal himself; but our followers, being filled with pride and mutton, declared that nothing on earth would induce them to eat the meat, for it had not been hallaled by one after their own religion. Little did they dream at the time how, before very long, they would have to change their minds and be a little less particular. Our four nomad guides thoroughly enjoyed their frugal feast, as they sat round a fire of droppings, boiling what meat we gave them in a small pot, while the bones themselves, after having scraped off every particle of meat and skin from them, they broke between two stones, and ate the marrow raw, just as it was, without any boiling or stewing.
This was the last occasion on which we saw anything of our big dog Tundu. He wasn't going over that Napu La again, and having had a royal repast over portions of the slain antelope, he perhaps imagined that if he remained where he was there would be an equally big meal every evening. Nearly a year after this desertion of Tundu we learnt, when we were back in India again, that this dog had turned up one day at the Residency in Leh, where Capt. Trench was living, in somewhat reduced condition. He must have found his way back of his own accord over three hundred miles. Our little fox terrier bitch Ruby had no hesitation in re-crossing the Napu La, for nothing on earth would have induced her to remain with the nomads, amongst whom she had made her presence most obnoxious.